The years he won't live, I'll live them for him
by public static void
Summary: Minerva was tired, but she would always spare a second to help any kid who looked as sad and old as he did.


For the Seventh Hogwarts' Assignment.

 **Charms - Piertortum Locomotor:** Write a story that takes place directly after the battle of Hogwarts. Focus especially on how the survivors might feel.

I had the chance to speak with someone who lost a sibling. They claimed how in spite of the anger at being powerless and the sadness at not having them around anymore, what they felt the most was the need to live two lives. My friend said they felt old because of the need to live for their sibling too. That inspired this, though I hope I never get to feel what they have to endure.

 **Extra prompts:** (character) Minerva McGonagall, (genre) Hurt/Comfort, (location) Great Hall.

 **Word count:** 672.

* * *

Even amidst the wreckage, Hogwarts stood strong. The burned and collapsed walls did nothing but to sow determination in the hearts of the survivors, watered by their own tears at seeing those who fell. The atmosphere of the Great Hall, usually cheery and only a little bit solemn, was sad and pained. Yet there was one boy, younger than most of those who stayed to fight, who was angry instead of being sad.

Minerva, who was mostly unscathed, approached him carefully. It was not that she feared him because even after all her years and many battles she still had the fire to keep going and defeat anyone who became a foe. What she feared, instead, was the mere thought of the sweet boy becoming what they just fought, and his face —his calmly wrathful eyes— told her he could become just that.

"He was brave," Minerva told the boy, squeezing his shoulder and softly pulling him to the side. His feet moved and followed her, but his sight remained upon his dead brother. "Colin knew what he was doing."

"We all did," was his reply. He knew, of course, that Colin had been a very brave wizard who fought not only with spells but also with his defiant presence in the battle against a regime that swore to eliminate people like them. Professor McGonagall, in all her wisdom, could not give him more comfort than that. "I still think we should have fought earlier."

Minerva closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "We didn't win because of this fight, Denis. Not even Harry Potter's victory over Voldemort was enough to win by itself."

"If you mean to tell me we could have won without him," Denis Creevey said with a sad half-smile. "I believe you, Professor. I never understood Colin's obsession with Potter until today. My brother saw a hero where I saw only another boy. But he proved me wrong today. Still, I know it wasn't his victory what pushed us to win."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "Would you mind sharing your conclusion, Denis?" she asked, almost pretending they were at class instead of being in the middle of the Great Hall, with dead bodies of friends and enemies resting while those left alive were grieving and celebrating at the same time. To Minerva, the scene around them was more than bizarre and yet reassuring. This wasn't like that last time in 1981...

"We won because we united," Colin spoke, shaking her away from the memories of a past war. He hesitated, looking for something in her that she must have had because he sighed. Then, he rubbed one eye and Minerva saw the traces of tears. "We thought we would win and then, when Potter died, it was as if only then we woke up and saw how far we were from actually winning. We always relied on others to fix our problems."

"You are thirteen years old, Denis," Minerva told him, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking her head. The boy in front of her was speaking as if he were fifty years old and only finding his will to live. "And yet you speak with such resignation..."

He smiled at her. It was a sad grimace stained with anger. "My brother was barely fifteen," he said. "He's dead and all I have left of him is the freedom of being a muggleborn in a world that tried to make us believe we didn't belong. There is no way to feel young, Professor. Not when he is dead and I am alive. I won't feel young when I remember how he fought for our right to have magic every time I cast a spell. Even now I feel old, and that's because I will live two lives now: mine and his."

Minerva understood. In that moment she could do nothing more than to nod and half-hug the poor boy. He had lost his brother, but he wouldn't be alone. She wouldn't let him be alone.


End file.
